Chase a chance to outrun sorrows

As a 25-year-old reporter in Delaware, I interviewed a man who hunted to the hounds – in his pickup. The 50-something man told me his life was filled with sorrow, but he temporarily forgot his troubles while chasing rabbits.

He said, “Someday, Becky, when you are my age, you’ll understand.”

Flying off to Tucson, Ariz., in the middle of a workweek to watch Gonzaga University’s men’s basketball team is as absurd as chasing small animals from behind the wheel of a four-wheel drive. But that’s what we’re doing, Jamie Neely and I, on our turning-50 road trip to the NCAA championships.

The newspaper’s picking up our steep tab, but other midlife trekkers are spending plenty to get there. The cheapest tickets to Tucson – on Southwest Airlines – cost $520 roundtrip. The flights are sold out. Go to Expedia.com and you’ll find just a few flights on other airlines, all at exorbitant prices.

Jamie and I aren’t surprised the expensive flights are selling out. One of the tasks in midlife is to make up for what you missed in the first half of life. We didn’t break enough rules. Neither one of us would have ever skipped a week of college classes to follow a basketball team to the championships.

Now, we’re trying to skip a week of real work to chase this rabbit to Tucson. We’ve had a couple of minor setbacks.

First setback: We decided to wait until this morning to fly to Tucson so we could cheer the Zags during their official Spokane send-off Tuesday afternoon. The big hoopla was canceled, because Coach Mark Few wanted the players to stay in class as long as possible.

Second setback: For weeks, I fretted about getting sick before hitting the road. When every drugstore ran out of Airborne, I begged some off my mother’s 85-year-old boyfriend. Airborne, touted on “Oprah,” is an herbal fizzy tablet that dissolves in water. You drink it to halt the infiltration of cold germs in public places. Neurotic me, I’m feeling great.

Meanwhile, Jamie – a sturdy Midwesterner – is sick as a dog. Here’s her report, filed from home:

So I go to see my doctor. I’ve felt exhausted ever since flying home from Santa Clara, Calif., and I have an odd cough. I’m prepared for a diagnosis of midlife malaise. My doctor’s more eager to talk about the Zags than my symptoms.

His theory is that if they can keep Ronny Turiaf handing off the ball, like he’s been doing lately, they can go a long way. This team has an edge to it, he says. It’s Adam Morrison’s personality. It’s like they’re a whole new team this year. They’re cocky and that’s a good thing if they want to advance.

He asks me to breathe deeply as he listens to my lungs. “Sounds like sandpaper in there,” he says. “Bronchitis.”

I remember the bawling toddler with the barking cough next to me on the plane to Santa Clara. My doctor has lapsed into more Xs and Os. My prescription, I remind him. He writes out an order for an antibiotic and tells me if the Zags make it, he’ll fly to the Final Four.

“Meet me in St. Louis,” he says with a grin.

Jamie, who earned a master’s degree in psychology from GU, says that psychoanalyst Erik Erikson believed we must find ways to nurture the next generation, our community or the Earth, or we can spin off into midlife crankiness. It’s up to us. Our worlds can shrink to the size of our own shoes, if we’re not careful.

So, on Tuesday afternoon, I drove over to Martin Centre to the unofficial send-off for the Zags. There were three media cameramen there and two fans. The players, looking like long and thin creatures from another dimension, filed past them into buses. The buses were headed to a chartered plane waiting at the airport. The NCAA pays for the charter. The band and cheer squad get free rides on the charter, too.

A reader called Monday to complain about the newspaper space we’re devoting to the Zags. He said the Arctic National Wildlife Refuge oil situation and the Social Security crisis are more important. Yes, but those kinds of troubles will always be with us. No harm in forgetting all sorrows, if only for a few hours, while hunting to the Bulldog hounds in Tucson. Jamie and I will see you there.